I Let the Beast In Again

This morning at about 2:00 am there was a loud smash below my window. When I looked down there was a guy half-submerged in the passenger window of a Honda, lifting the stereo. For a second I played the voyeur role, intoxicated by the crime. Then I opened my window and said, hey, asshole, I see you. So the robber yanked one last time and ran off with the part. About ten minutes later the owner of the car, a guy about my age, returned from North Beach with his buddies to discover the carnage. Obviously, he was pissed.

I couldn't go back to bed right away so I sat there, thinking. First I was like, why didn't you get involved? I mean you could have chased him down. You've certainly had it happen before, twice in the span of three weeks, although that was like fifteen years ago and I probably deserved it. Then I was like, in an era of iPods and digital cameras, who steals a car radio? Is there even a market for this sort of thing? Do they still make those detachable faces to make it harder for thieves? Finally, I thought about the victim. In a bizarre moment of reverse sympathy, I began to consider whether the guy deserved it. Who knows, really? He might be a douchebag and this could have been some kind of karmic justice and I almost interfered with the natural order of things. I mean, sometimes bad things do happen to bad people, right?

Then I wondered why my mind always did this, going against the grain, against conventional wisdom, just because, really. It certainly makes it difficult to go through life this way.

So I popped three advil, rubbed one out, and went back to bed.